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VERSES 


BY 


PATRICK     MARTIN     KING 


SAN      FRANCISCO 
1890 


PREFACE. 


Herewith  are  printed,  for  some  friends,  a  few  of 
the  trifles  which,  from  time  to  time,  I  have  sent  to  the 
newspapers,  with  others  that  have  not  yet  appeared 
in  print.  To  them  are  added  those  that  I  have  sent 
to  Her  Gracious  and  Imperial  Majesty,  The  Queen 
of  England. 

That  my  poor  thoughts  are  not  more  artistically 
sent  forth  is  cause  for  regret,  but  that  they  are  honest, 
that  they  come  from  the  heart,  I  trust  none  will 
doubt.  (l  ffaud  facile  enter gunt  quorum  virtutibus 
obstat  res  angusta  domi  "  is  a  truism  recognized  to-day 
as  fully  by  every  man  having  any  pretensions  to  literary 
attainments,  as  it  was  by  him  from  whom  I  quote. 

With  these  few  remarks  I  launch  my  little  skiff  and 
hope  that  she  may  bring  "good  luck "  to  all  she  may 

reach. 

Frail  nautilus,  I  fling  thee 

On  ocean  smooth  and  clear. 
May  gentle  zephyrs  wing  thee 
To  all  that  I  hold  dear. 

P.  M.  K. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  May,  1890. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

PREFACE  TO  THE  POEMS 3 

CONTENTS 5 

A  CALIFORNIA  FERN-LEAF 9 

A  WISH 12 

Two  LIPS  AND  ROSES 14 

To  THE  SOUL 16 

NATURE'S  NOBLEMAN 18 

A  VALENTINE 20 

THE  CHRISTIAN  POET 23 

THE  GENIAL  POET 25 

NATURE'S   POET 27 

SONG  :    Cleveland  and  Thtirman 31 

A  THANKSGIVING  ODE 35 

INDEPENDENCE  DAY 38 

A  REGRET 42 

A  REMEMBRANCE 45 

RETRO  SATANAS 47 


ONLY  A  POET 50 

PARK  LYRICS: 

Irish  Eyes 53 

Bright  Chataine 55 

Twilight — Sunlight — Flowers —  Women  .    .  57 

A  SKETCH  :    The  Real  and  the  Ideal 59 

A  BIRTHDAY  WISH 61 

To  HER 62 

A  HEALTH  TO  HER 64 

To  MESDAMES  S AND  T 66 

A  STAVE  FOR  IRELAND 68 

AN  ODE  OF  THANKSGIVING 70 

A  MONODY 72 

AN  INTROSPECTIVE   MUSING 74 

To  "  A"  (in  reply  to  her  request) 77 

LE  JOUR  DE  L'AN 80 

PEN  PORTRAITS  : 

Archbishop  Riordan     '. 84 

Vicar -General  Father  Prendergast  ....  84 

The  Chancellor,  Father  Montgomery  ....  85 

A  SERENADE 86 

HEALTH  TO  SUE 88 


(  vii  ) 

BACCHANALIAN .   .  91 

A  RECOLLECTION  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 92 

A  VALENTINE 94 

MUSING 97 

A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  .   .   .  -. 99 

A  PARK  CAROL 101 

NOTES  TO  IRISH  RECOLLECTIONS 103 

IRISH  RECOLLECTIONS  : 

Martin  Toole 105 

Father  James .  108 


OF 


A  CALIFORNIA  FERN -LEAF: 

CULLED    FOR    THE    QUEEN. 

DEDICATED    TO 
) 

8Cfj<  Prince  of  QJH&zlcs. 

A  health  to  England's  Empress-Queen  — 
The  best,  the  truest,  that  has  been 
Since  monarchy  first  graced  the  scene  — 

From  this  fair  land  is  sent ;  — 
This  land  that  now  would  be  her  own, 
Had  George  the  Third  when  on  the  throne 
But  listened  to  his  people's  tone, 

And  grandly  to  it  bent. 

Live,  Mistress  fair  of  lands  and  seas 
In  torrid  zones  and  climes  that  freeze, 
Greater  than  ever  Rome  in  these— 
Thou  art  thy  nation's  choice ; 


And  on  this  day  in  every  land, 
On  every  sea,  on  every  strand 
Where  English-speaking  people  band, 
They  hail  thee  with  glad  voice. 

And  I  have  seen  thee  years  ago, 

When  in  my  veins  youth's  blood  did  flow, 

Not  then  as  now  so  calmly  slow  — 

It  was  in  my  sad  sireland  ; — 
The  brightest  jewel  in  thy  crown, 
Above  the  "  Kohinoor's"   renown, 
Oh  !  smile  on  her  and  never  frown, 

She  is  thine  own,  brave  Ireland. 

And  if  I  now  a  fancy  weave, 

'Tis  not  to  flatter  or  deceive, 

Nor  would  I  say  aught  that  might  grieve 

On  this  thy  natal  day ; 
But  I  have  found  in  other  times 
That  good  has  come  from  humble  rhymes, 
Though  inartistic  be  the  chimes, 

And  so,  accept  my  lay. 


( II ) 

O  Queen,  long  may  you  live  to  see 
That  justice  best  controls  the  free, 
And  in  it  power  shall  ever  be 

To  stamp  out  hate  and  treason ; 
But,  Empress  great,  with  justice  blend 
Mercy  to  all,  and  so  defend 
Your  own  good  name  unto  the  end 

By  linking  love  with  reason. 

And  when  the  earthly  crown  is  gone, 

Descending  to  thy  loyal  son, 

The  Sovereign  Lord  shall  say  ' '  Well  done ' 

And  in  the  realms  above 
Give  thee  a  crown  that  cannot  die,  — 
A  crown  beyond  the  azure  sky 
That  all  destruction  shall  defy, 

In  token  of  His  love. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA, 

MAY  24,  1889.     (The  Queen's  Birthday.) 


A    WISH: 

LINES   ON   THE   MARRIAGE  OF  THE    PRINCESS    LOUISE. 

Ring  out,  ye  joy  bells,  ring, 
And  to  this  Princess  sing 
The  homage  that  ye  bring 

With  loud  and  joyous  voice. 
She  of  the  regal  line, 
Victoria,  is  thine ; 
In  her  thy  virtues  shine — 

Let  Englishmen  rejoice. 

Rejoice,  and  to  Him  pray 
That  His  protection  may 
To  her  extend  alway 

A  kind  almighty  friend  ; 
That  her  career  be  bright, 
She  guided  by  His  light, 
And  walking  in  His  sight, — 

With  Fife's  love  to  defend. 


(   13  ) 

Strew  flowers  'neath  her  feet ; 
Let  cheers  her  presence  meet ; 
With  language  loud  yet  sweet 

Be  loyalty  expressed. 
This  day  let  anthems  rise 
Melodious  to  the  skies  ; 
With  feeling  that  ne'er  dies 

Be  sympathy  confessed. 

O,  may  her  days  be  long, 
While  history  and  song 
The  Good  and  True  among 

Her  name  shall  wreathe. 
This  from  a  distant  clime, 
With  harp  ill  kept  in  time, 
But  in  well  meaning  chime, — 

The  wish  I  breathe. 


TWO  LIPS  AND   ROSES: 

A    RECOLLECTION. 

Once  'neath  Cathedral  dome, 
Not  Peter's  shrine  in  Rome 
But  Mary's  here  at  home, 

I  saw  a  gentle  girl 
With  roses  in  her  hand 
That  followed  love's  command, 
Nor  could  the  spell  withstand 

Of  sweetening  this  pearl. 

The  girl !     When  she  looked  down 

The  roses  couldn't  frown, 

But  held  their  leaves,  though  brown, 

As  craving  for  Love's  sips  ; 
The  brown  leaves  turned  to  green 
More  verdant  in  love's  sheen 
Than  they  had  ever  been, 

While  drinking  from  her  lips. 


(  15  ) 

Ah,  me  !  that  day  how  I 
Would  give  my  life  and  die 
And  forfeit  earth  and  sky, 

Could  I  but  be  that  rose  ! 
For  one  fond  hour  to  lie 
Upon  her  breast  and  sigh 
Out  life  in  love,  then  die,— 

Such  death  is  sweet  repose. 

SAN  FRANCISCO, 

December  28,  1889. 


TO   THE   SOUL. 

Spirit  of  mine,  look  on ! 
Thou'rt  surely  best  alone, 
Thy  destiny  undone, 

Than  with  the  vulgar  throng. 
If  lust  for  many  things 
Possession  some  time  brings, 
Remorse  yet  subtly  stings — 

God  placed  thee  on  thy  throne. 

Sorrow  may  stress  and  try, 
Fondest  of  hopes  may  die, 
Love  may  but  leave  a  sigh, 

Yet  kills  not,  though  it  mars. 
Sorrow  is  helpless  ire, 
Ambition,  vain  desire, 
Love,  a  malingering  fire — 

Over  the  clouds  are  stars. 


(  17  ) 

Then,  O  my  soul,  we'd  crave 
Of  Him,  who  to  us  gave 
The  thoughts  the  heart  to  lave 

To  upward  look  for  ever  ; 
And,  if  it  be,  that  now 
Grief  must  weigh  down  the  brow, 
We'll  hold  on  to  the  plow, 

And  leave  the  furrow — never. 


NATURE'S    NOBLEMAN : 

SUGGESTED    ON    READING    OF    THE    DUKE'S    REFUSAL 
OF    THE    ROYAL    DOWRY. 

O  lordly  Fife,  well  done, 

Thou  hast  Wales'  Princess  won, 

And  gold  thou  touchest  none, 

All  honor  unto  thee. 
Rejecting  "  Royal  Grants," 
Accepting  but  love's  thanks, 
You  elevate  the  ranks 

Of  modern  chivalry. 

\ 

True  chip,  from  old  Macduff, 
Thou  criest,  '*  Hold,  enough, 
We  are  not  of  the  stuff 

That  pawns  the  heart  for  gold, 
Though  living  in  this  age 
Of  mercenary  rage 
Our  honor  you  must  gauge 

As  in  the  days  of  old." 


(  19) 

Thus,  I,  in  dreamy  rhyme 
Of  past  and  present  time, 
Hail  thee  on  height  sublime, 

Front  in  manhood's  peerage  ; 
And,  as  my  lot  is  cast 
With  those  before  the  mast, 
I  offer  homage  last 

Coming  from  the  steerage. 

SAN  FRANCISCO, 

October  5,  1889. 


A    VALENTINE. 

Away  from  Kentucky's  green  mountains, 
Away  from  its  bright  skies  of  blue, 

Away  from  its  dancing  clear  fountains 
I  hasten  to  gaze  upon  you! 

Those  landscapes  so  fair  are  behind  me! 

Now  torrents  and  gorges  before — 
I  care  not.     All  things  but  remind  me 

To  hasten  and  see  you  once  more. 

I  am  come.      Do  not  turn  you  so  coldly, 
Nor  scorn  my  poor  frivolous  lay; 

It  may  be  "the  last"  though  thus  boldly 
I  hail  you  on  Valentine's  Day! 

I  hail  you,  my  dearest,  so  youthful ; 

I  hail  the  fresh  bloom  on  your  cheek  ; 
I  hail  you  in  verse  that  is  truthful ; 

In  words  now  forbidden  to  speak. 


(    21    ) 

And  you,  O  Saint  Valentine  clever, 
I  hail  and  pay  homage,  your  Grace ; 

I  '11  pray  at  your  altar  forever, 

For  through  you  I  look  in  her  face. 

Let  the  day  and  occasion  excuse  me, 

And  the  weary  long  many  a  mile 
I  have  traveled — you  cannot  refuse  me 

What  I '  d  barter  my  soul  for — one  smile. 

And  that  smile  though  to  cold  paper  given, 

And  that  paper  and  I  far  apart ; 
Though  from  you  and  from  heaven  I  'm  riven 

That  smile  shall  come  on  to  my  heart. 

And  if  I  would  ask  one  more  favor — 

How  cheap  with  my  life-blood  'twere  bought — 

One  smile  you  will  give  to  this  paper, 
And  keep  for  the  writer — one  thought. 

And  that  thought  when  in  moments  of  gladness 
You  list  to  the  voices  of  love, 


(    22    ) 

Shall  come  over  his  soul  in  its  sadness, 
As  dew  comes  from  heaven  above. 

That  smile  and  that  thought  linked  together, 
Concession  from  beauty  to  pain, 

Will  tell  him  in  fair  or  foul  weather 
His  life  has  not  all  been  in  vain. 


THE    CHRISTIAN     POET. 

With  his  own  soul  alone  he  talks 
In  crowded  streets  or  quiet  walks, 
Nor  careth  for  the  many  balks 

That  may  beset  his  ways  ; 
For  trusting  in  his  God  on  high  — 
The  God  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky 
Who  unto  him  is  ever  nigh  — 

He  gives  his  thoughts  in  lays. 

In  lays  betimes  of  dreamy  mood 
All  written  for  the  people's  good, 
And  by  them  little  understood 

Whilst  with  them  here  he  stays 
But  when  He  shall  His  servant  call 
To  leave  the  scene  of  man's  first  fall 
Nor  further  drain  life's  bitter  gall 

Then  they  may  read  his  lays. 


And,  yet  perchance,  it  may  come  out 
They  know  not  what  they  are  about 
When  echoing  forth  their  rabble  shout : 

"  We'll  give  him  now  a  stone  !  " 
For  when  the  noble  man  is  dead 
And  needs  no  more  his  daily  bread  ; 
They'll  place  a  marble  o'er  his  head 

And  think  they  thus  atone. 


THE    GENIAL    POET. 

He  cares  not  for  the  titled  "  Noddy," 

He  scoffs  and  scorns  the  upstart  "Shoddy," 

Though  smilingly  he'll  try  a  toddy, 

As  every  good  man  may  ; 
And  with  true  men  from  night  'til  morn 
He'll  sip  the  juice  of  grape  or  corn, 
And  smoke  away  all  thought  forlorn 

In  true  Bohemian  way. 

And  then  he's  glad  to  hear  you  talk 

In  rushing  ride  or  sober  walk, 

And  his  good  jokes  you  cannot  balk 

For  he  will  have  his  say  ; 
And  when  in  humor  he  has  got 
He'll  give  you  back  each  well-bred  shot 
With  not  a  touch  of  vulgar  "rot " 

Until  the  break  of  day. 


(  26  ) 

And  thus  his  days  and  nights  along 
He  'd  spend  in  wit  and  wine  and  song 
His  tried  and  trusty  friends  among — 

Young  though  they  be  or  mellow ; 
And  when  at  last  his  soul  has  fled 
To  seek  the  regions  of  the  dead, 
Of  him  it  may  be  truly  said, 

He  was  n'  t  a  bad  fellow. 


NATURE'S    POET. 

In  Fancy's  land  he  lives  and  loves, 

And  '  midst  her  fields  he  freely  roves 

With  flowers  of  thought  culled  from  her  groves 

Which  he  would  share  with  you  ; 
Nor  sect,  nor  creed  he  will  revere 
On  this  or  any  other  sphere, 
At  home,  abroad  or  anywhere 

Save  what  is  good  and  true. 

Your  jargon  oft  he  will  forsake 

"  For  moonbeams  glassed  upon  the  lake," 

Or  sunlight  glinting  through  the  brake 

As  it  may  suit  his  whim ; 
"  His  words  are  idle  —  oft  times  mad," 
If  in  his  moods  he 's  aught  but  sad  — 
Say  on  !    If  it  but  makes  you  glad 

It  is  the  same  to  him. 


(    28    ) 

He  flies  from  you  —  he  hates  you  not, 
Nor  are  your  sorrows  e'er  forgot, 
Though  seeming  happy  be  your  lot 

He  knows  you  are  not  so  ; 
He  knows  that  in  each  human  breast 
There  is  a  foe  to  human  rest  — 
Call  it  you  may  the  worst,  or  best  — 

The  heritage  of  woe. 

Then  he  will  leave  you  oft  awhile 
To  bask  in  Nature's  bonnie  smile, 
Adown  life  drifting  mile  on  mile 

Led  onward  by  her  voice. 
Anon  he  hears  the  twittering  birds — 
To  his  true  soul,  melodious  words, 
All  touching  transcendental  chords  — 

Nor  with  dull  selfish  choice. 

He  lists  the  murmuring  of  brooks ; 
The  stones  he  treads  to  him  are  books ; 
The  flowers  that  bloom  in  brakes  or  nooks 
Are  mirror' d  in  his  soul. 


He  looks  up  to  the  stars  on  high, 
Illumining  night's  velvet  sky, — 
To  whom  his  spirit  would  draw  nigh 
Thought-free,  from  Pole  to  Pole. 

He  views  the  hoary  mountains  old 
Now  bleak  and  gray  and  barren  cold, 
But  soon  all  framed  in  burnished  gold 

As  day  begins  to  die, — 
When  Sun-god  mad  with  wrath  and  ire 
Leaves  fading  world  to  darkness  dire, 
And  steeps  the  western  marge  in  fire, — 

In  roseate  tints  the  sky. 

He  wanders  on  —  each  flower  he  sees, 
Each  tiny  shoot — the  aged  trees, 
And  tenderly  with  all  of  these 

He  wrould  communion  hold. 
He '  d  ask  of  them,  when  he  was  young, 
If  from  their  parentage  he  sprung  ; 
If  he  like  them  first  had  no  tongue 

If  he  was  e'er  so  cold. 


(  30  ) 

Of  streams'  soft  voice  or  oceans'  roar 
He '  d  ask  what  of  his  state  before, 
Or  what  may  be  when  nevermore 

His  eyes  look  on  this  scene. 
He  longs  and  thirsts  for  knowledge  all 
From  the  ''beginning"  to  the  "fall," 
And  since.     But  to  his  earnest  call 

No  answer  yet  has  been. 

He  stands  upon  earth's  vernal  sod, 

Yet  scorns  the  beaten  paths  to  plod  ; 

He '  d  tread  those  heights  that  ne'  er  were  trod 

In  all  the  ages  long. 
His  spirit  droops,  his  reason  reels, 
As  o'  er  his  soul  the  dire  thought  steals 
That  feeling  all,  he  naught  reveals, 

And  leaves  unsung  his  song. 


A    CAMPAIGN    SONG. 

DEDICATED    TO 

$£li:$,  CleOclanO 

(WIFE    OF    THE    PRESIDENT.) 

Men  of  our  great  and  glorious  land, 

Men  who've  come  here  from  foreign  strand, 

Now  muster  in  fraternal  band 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ; 
For  they  are  battling  for  the  right, 
And  waging  here  the  people's  fight ; 
Therefore,  come  on  in  all  your  might 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ! 

CHORUS. 

Men.  who  have  loved  your  country  so, 
Men  who  will  shout  "Chinese  must  go," 
Now  let  your  votes  right  loyal  flow 
For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ; 


(32) 

For  they  will  sure  your  country  purge, 
And  drive  right  out  the  heathen  scourge ; 
Therefore,  let  each  the  other  urge 
For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ! 

CHORUS. 

Men  crushed  to  earth  with  taxes  high, 
Men  holding  thoughts  not  born  to  die, 
Now  let  your  voices  reach  yon  sky 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ; 
For  they  this  tariff  so  accurst, 
Will  in  all  equity  adjust  ; 
Therefore,  freemen,  march  on  you  must 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ! 

CHORUS. 

Men  who  will  think  and  men  who  toil, 
Men  of  the  workshop  and  the  soil, 
Go  straight  ahead — there's  no  recoil — 
For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ; 


(33) 

For  they  will  sure  your  needs  supply, 
And  foreign  influence  defy  ; 
Therefore,  go  forward  in  full  cry 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ! 

CHORUS. 

Men  oft  by  Grant  to  victory  led, 

Men  who  with  Lee  have  fought  and  bled, 

Now  march,  this  time,  in  tranquil  tread 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ; 
They  ne'er  in  thought  and  act  will  cease, 
Nor  will  their  efforts  e'er  decrease, 
Till  Gray  and  Blue  be  blent  in  peace 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ! 

CHORUS. 

Men  free  and  brave  from  every  strand, 
Now  voters  here  in  freedom's  land, 
With  Right  and  Justice  take  your  stand 
For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ; 


(34) 

And  be  but  loyal  each  true  son, 

The  fight's  your  own — the  battle's  won, 

And  we  shall  land  in  Washington 

For  Cleveland  and  for  Thurman  ! 

CHORUS. 

We  '11  march  right  on  for  Cleveland  and  for 

Thurman, 

We'll  march  right  on  nor  loiter  by  the  way, 
We '  11  march   right  on  for  Cleveland  and  for 

Thurman, 

We'll  march  right  on,  we're  ready  for  the 
fray ! 


R  A 
OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


A    THANKSGIVING    ODE. 

DEDICATED     TO 

flton.  Efjos.  jf.  33agartr, 
Sans  peur  et  sans   reproclte. 

We  thank  you,  Cleveland,  for  this  call 
To  render  our  Thanksgivings  all, 
For  many  blessings,  great  and  small, 

By  which  we  are  surrounded. 
And  all  you  Deities  on  high, 
Who  wield  your  sceptres  in  the  sky, 
To  you  just  now  we'  d  fain  draw  nigh 

In  faith,  howe'er  unfounded. 

And  yet  amidst  your  varied  crew 
Of  whimsical,  or  false,  or  true, 
Amidst  your  lot  I  choose  but  two — 
Ceres  and  jolly  Bacchus  ; 


(36) 

For  sure,  without  their  timely  aid 
I  must  confess  I  am  afraid, 
And  honestly  it  must  be  said 
Venus  would  not  attack  us. 

And  without  Venus  what  were  earth  ! 
A  wretched,  soulless,  barren  berth, 
Of  hope  and  life  and  joy  the  dearth — 

Of  sons  and  wife  and  pater, 
No  more  we '  d  find  down  here  below  ; 
Our  age  a  blank  where'er  we  'd  go, 
Weeds  tempest-tossed  all  to  and  fro, 

Without  thee,  Venus  Mater. 

But  since  we  have  you,  Venus,  dear, 
With  Ceres  and  with  Bacchus  near, 
That  'tis  our  duty  is  quite  clear 

To  live  whilst  life  is  living ; 
And  so  I  fill  the  wine-cup  high, 
And  drink  to  those  'throned  in  the  sky, 
And  unto  Cleveland,  far  more  nigh, 

In  thanks  for  his  * '  Thanksgiving. ' ' 


(37  ) 

Then  let  us  here  the  goblet  fill, 
And  pledge  to  all  men  of  good  will 
Whose  hearts  to  virtue  ever  thrill 

With  constancy  full  blended  ; 
And  with  them  I  include  the  true, 
The  ever-faithful  gallant  crew 
That  manned  the  ship  well  sailed  by  you, 

Whose  voyage  now  is  ended. 

And  still  once  more  the  cup  I  '11  drain, 
Unto  you,  Cleveland.     Yes,  again, 
And  this,  for  aye,  is  my  refrain, 

Truth,  Loyalty  and  Honor ; 
And  confusion  to  all  those 
False-hearted  knaves,  not  straight-out  foes, 
Who  have  prolonged  a  nation's  woes 

By  battening  upon  her. 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY: 

LINES    SUGGESTED    BY    READING    A    PESSIMIS 
TIC     ARTICLE     IN     A     LOCAL 
HEBDOMADAL. 

Come,  muse  of  mine,  in  Freedom's  cause 
We  '11  touch  the  lyre,  nor  fear  the  laws 
Of  pedagogues  in  our  see-saws 

As  we  may  canter  on  ; 
We  sing  not  here  of  Marathon, 
Of  wars  by  Greeks  or  Persians  won, 
Nor  shall  we  bask  in  Roman  sun — 

They're  past — though  never  gone. 

This  day  we  choose  a  modern  theme — 
That  to  our  souls  would  almost  seem 
Fulfilment  of  the  poet's  dream — 
Nor  sigh  for  aught  beside ; 


'(39) 

We  sing  the  present,  our  own  times, 
Albeit  in  unworthy  rhymes, 
And  mayhap  in  discordant  chimes 
Which  critics  may  deride. 

We  sing  of  our  own  race  and  kin  ; 
Of  those  of  old  who  did  begin 
A  manly  war  on  thraldom's  sin ; 

To  those  who  in  their  might 
Still  later  asked  and  were  refused, 
And  asked  again  and  were  ill-used  ; 
Then,  nobly  fought  and  blood  diffused 

And  conquered  for  the  right. 

We  hail  this  English-speaking  man 
Whose  fight  for  Freedom  once  began 
With  Magna  Charta,  and  thence  ran 

O'er  every  sea  and  strand, 
Uplifting  man  wherever  found 
From  slavery,  however  bound, 
His  course  the  entire  world  around 

To  settle  in  this  land. 


(  40) 

O  wholesome  land  of  liberty  ! 

True  glowing  sprout  from  olden  tree — 

Still  may  thy  mission  onward  be 

For  Truth  to  ever  fight ; 
And  with  thy  parent  hand  in  hand 
On  every  sea,  on  every  strand, 
United  be  in  filial  band 

For  Freedom  and  for  Right. 

And  on  that  day  this  world  shall  see 

Man's  universal  jubilee, 

With  watchword,  ever,  ''Liberty!" — 

From  every  port  and  bay ; 
When  Flag  of  England  is  combined 
With  Stars  and  Stripes  upon  the  wind- 
Then,  despots  shall  a  lesson  find, 

Nor  dare  to  court  the  fray. 

So,  long  live  "Independence  Day" 
The  griefs  of  Freedom  to  allay, 
And  in  men's  thought  remain  alway 
Unto  far  distant  time. 


(  41  ) 

Thus  sixty  millions  this  day  cry 
Whilst  rockets  screech  unto  the  sky, 
As  cannons  thunder  far  and  nigh, 
And  with  them  goes  my  rhyme. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA, 

July  4,  1889.     (Independence  Day.) 


A  REGRET. 

"  Farewell  to  the  White  House,"  cried  Cleve 
land,  its  master, 

Just  after  the  recent  election  disaster. 

"  Farewell,  to  the  dreams  of  advancing  in  glory 

This  great  country's  fame  and  my  own  name  in 
story ! 

Farewell  to  the  hopes,  to  the  joys,  and  some  tears 

That  I  've  borne  so  calmly  now  over  four  years  ! 

Farewell,  you  tired  days  and  you  days  all  too 
pleasant ! 

Farewell  to  the  White  House!  I  say  for  the 
present. 

Farewell  to  them  all !  I'm  still  loyal  and  true 

And  can  bid  all  good-bye  to  live  now  for  you." 

"Farewell  to  the  White   House!"    sighed  the 

fairest  of  women 
Whose   beauty   e'er   thralled   the   hearts  of  all 

freemen. 


(  43  ) 

' '  Farewell ! ' '  she  sighs  sadly,  though  outwardly 

seeming 
To   this   change   unconscious,    she 's    inwardly 

dreaming. 
Her  dreams  are  the  dreams  of  the  Pure  and  the 

Truthful, 
The  Cultured,  the  Well-bred,  the  Winsome  and 

Youthful. 

"Farewell  to  the  White  House  !"  cried  Bayard, 

a  man 

Without  fear  or  reproach  or  dishonest  plan. 
"I  have  done  my  duty  'fore  God  and  true  men  ; 
And  if  I  've  done  wrong  I  would  do  it  again. 
I  've  loved  this  great  country,  its  land  and  its  sea, 
And  no  party  e'er  served  it  less  selfish  than  we. 
Whate'er  may  betide  me  let  fate  not  o'erwhelm, 
I'm  ready  when  called  to  again  take  the  helm. 
If  rough  days  I  've  had,  I  have  also  had  pleasant  ; 
And  say  with  my  chieftain,    "Farewell  for  the 

present ! ' ' 


(44) 

" Farewell  to    the    White    House!"    cry  the 

loyal  and  true 
That  well  sailed  the  ship  with  her  captain  all 

through ; — 

And  I  at  this  distance  say,   * '  Fare-ze/^//  to  those 
And  ill  may  it  fare  to  all  dishonest  foes  ! ' ' 


A  REMEMBRANCE. 

I  think  of  thee  as  morning  breaks 

To  chase  the  mist  of  night, 
And  vapors  rise  from  distant  lakes 

To  the  Sun's  all-cheering  light. 

I  think  of  thee  as  noontime  warm 
Comes  o'er  the  earth  so  still, 

And  zephyrs  dance  in  cooling  charm 
On  crests  of  highest  hill. 

I  think  of  thee  as  evening  calm 

Mourns  for  the  dying  day, 
And  flowers  breathe  a  fragrant  balm, 

For,  oh,  they  cannot  stay. 

I  think  of  thee  as  twilight  hour 

Steals  o'er  us  from  above, 
And  human  hearts  have  lost  their  power 

In  longing  thirst  of  love. 


(  46  ) 

I  think  of  thee  as  night  goes  on  — 
When  stars  above  are  brightest, 

But  I  must  join  the  inane  throng 
With  heart  as  of  the  lightest. 

I  think  of  thee  as  midnight  hour 
Forsakes  the  day  that's  gone, 

And  nought  is  heard  in  hall  or  tower 
Save  crannying  winds  alone. 

I  think  of  thee  the  next  day  then 

As  on  the  day  before, 
And  long  for  happy  future  when 

I'll  clasp  thy  hand  once  more. 


RETRO    SATANAS. 

Dreams  of  my  boyhood !  Why  rise  you  just  now 
With  grief  in  my  heart  and  care  on  my  brow  ? 
Back,  back  to  your  caves !  Your  wings  closely 

furled ; 

For  know  you  the  fact  we  are  now  in  the  world  ! 
Away  with  your  notions  of  Caesar  and  Brutus, 
There  is  but  one  god   here,  and  his  name  is 

Plutus ;  — 

That  great  healer,  he,  of  all  earthly  ills, 
They  melt  into  air  when  he  wipes  out  your  bills  ! 

Then,  Master  of  Riches,  'tis  you  I'll  adore, 
When  trouble  assails  me  'tis  you  I'll  implore. 
If  sickness  o'ertakes  me,  the  doctor  you'll  pay, 
And  if  I  court  honors — why,  you'll  pave  the 

way; 

And  that  one  ambition,  all  others  above, 
You  can  purchase  for  me  —  a  true  woman's  love  ! 


(48) 

Foul  fiend,  thou  liest !  Do  all  that  you  can 

With  fallen,  degraded,  irresolute  man  ; 

But  know  you,  false  tempter,  there's  one  thing 

at  least 

In  this  wretched  age  that  is  not  of  the  beast ; 
It  is  this  priceless  jewel  from  heaven  above 
Still  pure  and  unsullied —  a  good  woman's  love. 

Then  dreams  of  my  boyhood,  of  innocent  youth, 
Let  us  dream  as  of  yore  of  the  Right  and  the 

Truth ! 

Let  us  rock  on  the  ocean,  and  sail  on  the  lake, 
Let  us  climb  the  high  mountain,  and  rest  in  the 

brake ; 
Let  us  bask  in  the  sunshine,  and  cool  in  the 

shade, 
Let  us  drink  in  the  beauties  of  woodland  and 

glade ! 

Let  us  look  to  the  stars,  and  list  to  the  streams, 
Let  us  roam  in  the  moonlight  and  follow    its 

beams  ; 


(49) 

Let  us,  O  God,  in  Thy  mercy,  gaze  high, 
Let  us  turn  from  the  earth  and  look  to  the  sky  ; 
Let  us  fly  from  this  world,  with  its  pitfalls,  its  sin, 
Let  us  dream  the  old  dreams,  our  own  world 
within ! 


ONLY    A    POET. 

Only  a  poet"  —  O,  that  night  so  rare  ! 

The  stars  were  glistening  in  God's  dome 

o'  erhead, 
And  I  stood  with  the  girl  that  I  loved  there, 

Listening  to  what  the  trembling  ocean  said. 

1  Only  a  poet ' '  —  And  the  soft  winds  blow, 

And  I  am  lying  loving  at  her  feet, 
Her  breathings  reach  me  quick  and  sweet  and 

low, 
And  loose  my  soul  I  dare  not—  nor  retreat. 

'  Only  a  poet ' '  —  Yet  who  fain  would  sing 

His  song  of  Truth  and  Hope  and  Light  and 

Love; 

Who  far  would  soar  on  sweep  of  angels'  wing, 
Nor  stop  until  he  reached    God's   throne 
above. 


"Only  a  poet"  — With  a  poet's  soul, 

And  love  for  all  things  holy,  pure  and  bright  ; 
Oft  sunk  in  reverie  past  will's  control, 

He  cannot  speak  a  single  thought  to-night. 

"  Only  a  poet"  — With  the  poet's  scorn 

For  aught  that  vile  or  vulgar  is  or  low  ; 
Who  yet  can  weep  with  suffering  gently  born 
And  laugh  at  tinsel  shine  on  shoddy's  brow. 

' '  Only  a  poet ' '  —  Bowed  down  to  earth 

Beneath  the  weight  of  man's  primeval  curse  ; 
Though  his  face  be  fanned  with  heaven's  own 

breath, 
'  Tis  hell  he  carries  in  his  empty  purse. 

' '  Only  a  poet ' '  —  Glorious,  welcome  taunt 

So  oft  applied  by  scorners  empty-brained, 
Whose    only    wealth,    whose    single    blatant 

vaunt 
Is  but  the  filthy  lucre  they  have  gained. 


(  52) 

"  Only  a  poet"  — Wishing  that  he  were, 

For  then  he'd  sing  you  songs  both  clear 

and  bright — 
Songs  that  would  banish  far  both  grief  and 

care, 

"And  lift  the   soul   to  God  and  Truth  and 
Right. 

'  Only  a  poet "  — '  T  was  whispered  soft, 
As  I  knelt  bewitched  and  loth  to  go, 
With  zephyrs  sighing  tremulous  and  oft 
And  moonbeams  kissing  silvery  waves  below. 

Only  a  poet "  — And  who  then  is  this  — 
Booby,  Noodle — or  perhaps  some  other 

Whose  presence  mars  this  hour  of  double  bliss  ? 
'Tis  neither  one — confound  it  —  'tis  her 
brother. 


PARK   LYRICS. 
IRISH   EYES. 

I  dream,  I  dream,  of  Irish  eyes 
That  gazed  in  mine  with  shy  surprise ; 
Two  Irish  eyes  of  honest  gray — 
Soft  as  a  soft  autumnal  day. 

They  are  not  gray!     I  see  them  blue — 
Those  windows  to  a  heart  so  true. 

I  see  them  now!     They  are  jet  black 
As  thunder  cloud  upon  the  wrack, 
Ere  to  the  lightning  it  gives  birth 
And  tearful  meltings  fall  to  earth. 

Slanderer,  avaunt!     They  are  not  jet 
But  of  the  loveliest  violet — 
Those  long-loved,  long-lost  violet  eyes 
That  looked  in  mine  with  glad  surprise. 


(  54) 

I've  quaffed  Love's  draught  on  many  a  strand, 
'  Neath  many  a  sky,  in  many  a  land ; 
I've  seen  fair  dames  on  many  a  shore 
Beautiful  as  the  loved  of  yore  ; 
I've  seen  them,  and  I  see  them  now 
With  culture  stamped  on  classic  brow 
As  musing  thus,  their  looks  I  mark 
Whilst  strolling  in  your  * '  Golden  Park. ' ' 

Yes,  many  a  fair  one  I  descry 
With  instep  arched  and  roguish  eye, 
And  many  a  Hebe.     Sometimes  a  Juno, 
Surpassed  in  grace  by  none  that  you  know, 
Whose  handsome  hands,  whose  shapely  feet 
The  backward  flowers  spring  to  meet. 

There  are  grand  dames  beneath  these  skies — 
But,  ah !  I  dream  of  Irish  eyes. 


(  55  ) 

BRIGHT  CHATAINE. 

Last  week  we  sang  of  Irish  eyes 
Which  we  had  seen  'neath  murky  skies 
In  that  old  land — the  land  of  Pat, 
Of  Priests,  Coercion,  and  all  that. 

To-day  we  sing  a  brighter  theme 
With  spirits  free  from  Irish  dream, 
And  hope  to  show  you  as  they  pass 
Some  charming  girls  as  in  a  glass, 
Where  each  may  see  just  as  she  goes 
Her  lovely  self  from  head  to  toes. 

Immortal  Gods,  behold  that  girl — 
Her  ruby  lips,  her  teeth  of  pearl ! 
Observe  her  smile — now  hear  her  talk ! 
And  oh,  well  mark  that  gliding  walk! 
Darling!     Thou'rt  all  ethereal 
With  just  enough  of  good  material. 
I  swear  'tis  true,  I  do  not  scoff, 
One  turn  this  way — By  Jove! — she's  off. 


(  56) 

Until  we  chance  to  meet  again, 

My  soul  goes  with  you,  bright  Chataine. 

But  "Hold,"  my  editor  now  cries, 
1 '  Make  me  a  verse  on  ladies'  eyes, 
And  ladies'  looks  and  ladies'  smiles, 
And  of  their  dress  that  most  beguiles." 

My  dearest  Sir,  I  say  you  this  : 
Of  glowing  Dame  or  budding  Miss 
I  may,  perhaps,  descant  in  rhyme 
Wanting  in  tune  and  out  of  time ; 
But  when  you  bid  me  sing  of  clothes — 
Ah  well,  Cd  c'est  bien  autre  chose. 
This  I  say  not  as  a  railer 
But  truth  to  tell,  I'm  not  a  tailor. 


(  57  ) 

TWILIGHT— SUNLIGHT— FLOWERS— WOMEN. 

Sweet,  indeed,  is  the  twilight  hour, 
As  all  must  own  who've  felt  its  power — 
That  hour  so  soft,  so  gently  stealing 
Around  the  soul,  Love's  thought  revealing. 

Of  this  have  sung  in  dreamy  mood 
Poets  ere  Byron  or  Tom  Hood. 

But  ah !     Give  me  this  noonday  sun 
With  scenes  as  oft  I've  gazed  upon. 
A  landscape  here — there  shady  bowers 
Where  one  might  rest  'midst  fragrant  flowers  ; 
Nor  care,  nor  think,  of  aught  beside, 
The  universe  his  blushing  bride. 
Flowers!     I  love  you  most  in  nature 
But  can't  o'ercome  your  nomenclature. 

And  now  for  women — that  is,  ladies — 
Ever  our  charmers!     E'en  in  Hades 


(  58  ) 

I  could  adore  and  worship  you 
As  I  do  here,  nor  mind  the  rue. 

Skies  and  flowers  and  women,  all 
Our  best  sensations  you  enthrall ; 
That  is,  we  worship,  though  afar, 
Each  one  his  own  ethereal  star. 
How  bright,  how  beautiful,  how  true 
To  live  forever  here  with  you  ; 
Leaving  to  creeds  their  full  transmission 
To  heaven  hereafter,  or  perdition. 

But  hold!     I  must  not  moralize, 
Nor  treat  of  things  beyond  our  skies ; 
But  leave  unto  each  holy  father 
To  damn  or  save  us  as  he'd  rather. 
For  me,  enough  that  here  I  am 
"  Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam" 


A    SKETCH. 

THE   REAL    AND    THE   IDEAL. 

* '  Divinely  tall ' '  and  so  divinely  fair ' ' 

This  "daughter  of  the  gods"  with  golden  hair 

Is  now  no  frenzy  of  the  poet's  eye — 

She  's  here;   in  flesh  and  blood  her  I  descry 

As  spurred  and  booted  on  she  prances, 

Casting  broadcast  her  timid  (?)  glances. — 

Here,  O  poet,  your  ideal  I  find 

In  ample  habit  and  waist  confined, 

Well  trimmed  with  laces,  satins  and  so  forth 

With  all  the  fripperies  now  put  on  by  Worth. 

Fringes  and  fripperies  all  combined 

To  improve  for  you  the  form  of  womankind. 

O  worthy  Worth !  How  you  make  up  the  shape ! 
And  whether  short  or  tall,  a  nymph  you  make. 
A  nymph!   Ye  fools,  hand-made  for  such  as  you 
Whose  souls  are  inane  as  her  leathern  shoe! 


(6o) 

For  me,  for  me,  avaunt  thou  painted  vision ! 
I  've  nought  to  give  thee  but  my  soul's  derision — 
Ah,  yes,  I  have;  though  'tis  not  wise  nor  witty, 
I  tender  thee  a  true  man's  honest  pity. 

I  turn  me  from  this  Fiction  to  the  True, 

I  turn,  my  own  ideal,  I  turn  to  you! 

I  turn  to  something  that  my  sight  won't  grieve — 

To  something  of  the  old  Miltonian  Eve. 

Then  grant  me,  Venus,  Heavenly  Queen  of  Love, 
Thou  who  still  reigneth  from  thy  throne  above; 
Grant  me,  O  Queen,  that  I  may  live  to  see 
Some  breathing  woman  as  my  soul  sees  thee. 
Some  form  of  Egypt  or  of  classic  Rome, 
Some  one  with  whom  my  restless  heart's  at  home; 
Some  one,  dear  Goddess,  I  no  more  may  leave, 
Some  one  with  less  of  Worth  but  more  of  Eve; 
Some  one  like  this,  O  Goddess,  deign  to  give, 
And  I  thy  votary  shall  ever  live; 
Nor  other  fancy  e'er  my  heart  shall  stir, 
For  kneeling  at  thy  shrine  I '  11  love  but  her. 


A    BIRTHDAY    WISH. 

Dear  J ,  to-day  you're  twenty-four! 

May  your  years  reach  to  four-score  more 

And  happiness  abound! 
And  when,  at  length,  the  Master  calls 
You  hence  from  earthly  routs  and  balls, 

May  you  be  worthy  found! 

And  midst  the  pure  and  Heavenly  host 
Find,  and  rejoin,  the  Loved  and  Lost 

Whom  we  are  mourning  here! 
And  I,  when  my  poor  life  is  done, 
And  all  my  sins  are  cleansed  and  gone, 

May  I,  too,  join  you  there! 


TO    HER. 

To  her — a  gentle  one — 
Whom  I  have  worshiped  long 
I  dedicate  this  song. 

I  love  her,  though  she  knows  it  not, 
For  words  of  love  I  have  not  spoken; 

But  yet  my  soul  has  not  forgot 
To  send  to  her  its  truthful  token. 

Has  sent  it  from  mine  eyes  to  hers 

Whilst  seeing  her  waste  on  idiot  lispers 

The  glances  that  are  only  Love's, 

When  Love  speaks  in  softest  whispers. 

I  love  her,  though  she  knows  it  not, — 
Ah,  yes,  she  does,  for  where' s  the  woman 

That  ever  yet  the  art  forgot 

To  read  us  first,  we  poor  males  human. 

I  love  her  gray  blue  eyes  so  bright, 
My  soul  flits  lovingly  about  'em, 


(  63  ) 

The  stars  above  show  no  such  light, 
This  world  to  me  is  dark  without  'em. 

I  love  her  winsome  honest  smile 
Showing  to  me  her  teeth  of  pearl, 

That  all  my  sorrows  could  beguile, 
I  do  so  love  this  gentle  girl. 

I  love  her  quiet  high-bred  air, 

Her  handsome  hands,  her  shapely  ankle, 
Oh,  I  could  gaze  for  ever  there, 

Nor  care  nor  grief  my  soul  would  rankle. 

I  love  her  lips— her  lips  I  love, 

Those  lips  so  chaste  yet  so  enticing, 

The  saints  would  leave  their  thrones  above 
Could  they  but  touch  them  on  alighting. 

I  love  her — yes,  ye  gods,  I  do, 

And  roundly  swear  by  every  sonnet 

I  worship  her  from  hat  to  shoe, 

Yes,  from  her  shoe  up  to  her  bonnet. 


A  HEALTH  TO  HER. 

Byron  would  pledge  the  health  of  Moore, 

In  water  pure  and  clear — 
A  draught  all  fit  for  Friendship  sure, 

When  nothing  better's  near. 

But  I,  who  am  no  poet,  nor 

Can  boast  me  much  of  brain 
Would  pledge  the  girl  that  this  is  for 

In  bumpers  of  champagne. 

Here  in  our  sanctum  snug  and  trim, 

All  selfish  thoughts  above, 
Fill,  sirs,  your  glasses  to  the  brim 

I  give— "The  girl  I  love." 

'  What  is  her  name  ?     Pray  who  is  she  ? 

Now,  we'll  have  no  excuse. 
Where  does  she  live  ?     Now  tell  it  me  ? 

I'm  sure  you  won't  refuse." 


My  friends,  I  will  not  give  her  name 
Though  here  I  do  not  boast, 

So  if  to  you  'tis  all  the  same 
We'll  now  drink  deep  my  toast. 

Here's  to  her  azure  eyes  so  bright, 
Here's  to  her  modest  carriage! 

And  here's  to  her  by  day  and  night, 
Both  now  and  after  marriage  ! 

And  here's  to  her  with  all  my  heart, 
For  she  could  never  pall  it ! 

Here's  to  each  artless  artful  art 
By  which  she  can  enthrall  it ! 

And  here's  to  her! — But  let  me  see — 

Why  this  poetic  feeling  ? 
I  know  not  if  she  cares  for  me 

Whilst  unto  her  I'm  kneeling. 


TO    MESDAMES    S AND   T . 

By  sad  sea  waves  and  mountains  grand 
They  tell  me  you  are  now  residing. 

May  wave  and  zephyr  blend  on  strand 
To  bring  you  joy  whilst  there  abiding. 

And  may  each  drive  or  ride  or  walk 
By  mountain  side  or  calm  seashore, 

Be  such  as  in  the  soul's  mute  talk 
Bring  mem'ries  sweet  for  evermore. 

This  much  from  one  who  ne'er  beguiles, 
Whose  nature's  cold  as  it  may  be ; 

Whose  heart  is  proof  'gainst  woman's  wiles, 
But  not,  against  her  sympathy. 

Sweet  sympathy — that  precious  gift ! 

To  your  dear  sex  seems  to  be  given 
To  strengthen  man  —  his  hopes  to  lift, 

And  bring  him  back  when  lost  to  Heaven. 


(  67  ) 

For,  dreaming  wearily  of  things, 
Dead  to  this  world  and  all  its  strife, 

Your  visit  still  in  my  soul  rings 
And  leads  me  back  again  to  life. 

Dear  ladies,  this  you  freely  gave  — 
Your  gentle  nature's  sympathy  ; 

When  I  lay  soulless  as  the  wave 
That  frets  and  dies  on  yonder  sea. 

Then  may  fsend  in  simple  verse 
Greetings  to  you  from  this  sick-bed, 

In  words  not  either  wise  nor  terse  — 

Straight  from  the  heart,  not  from  the  head. 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  June  16,  1888. 


A   STAVE   FOR   IRELAND. 

Sing,  O  my  muse  ! 
You  can't  refuse 
To  give  one  stave  for  Ireland  ; 
For  there  amidst  her  streams  and  brooks, 
Her  mountains  high  and  pleasant  nooks, 
We  drew  our  thoughts  out  Nature's  books 
Of  Love  and  Truth  and  Ireland. 

In  times  gone  by 
'Neath  that  soft  sky, 
We  dreamed  of  Love  and  Ireland ; 
And  now  though  far  from  her  we  roam, 
She's  still  to  us  our  own  heart's  home, 
The  dearest  spot  beneath  God's  dome — 
Our  own,  our  native  Ireland. 

There  first  we  sung 
When  days  were  young 
Of  Love  and  Truth  and  Ireland  ; 


(  69  ) 

And  here  to-night,  though  somewhat  old, 
With  heart  and  spirits  growing  cold, 
We  'd  draw  one  thought  from  ancient  mould 
Of  Love  and  Truth  and  Ireland. 

Then  let  us  sing, 
And  try  to  bring 
One  thought  to-night  for  Ireland. 
It  is  the  hope  her  spns  may  be 
United  all  fraternally — 
That  is  the  thought  to  pledge  with  me 

For  Love  and  Truth  and  Ireland. 

And  on  that  day 
O'er  land  and  bay 
In  every  home  in  Ireland, 
Peace  and  Contentment  full  shall  reign 
And  Justice  rule  o'er  land  and  main, 
Whilst  from  each  hearth  comes  one  refrain 
For  Love  and  Truth  and  Ireland. 


ODE  OF  THANKSGIVING. 

WRITTEN  AT  REQUEST  OF  A  CATHOLIC  LADY,  A  MEMBER  OF  ST. 
MARY'S  CATHEDRAL. 

Father  of  all,  enthroned  on  high, 
Lord  of  the  sea  and  earth  and  sky, 
We  tender  Thee  a  joyful  cry 

On  this  auspicious  day; 
For  Thou  has  brought  from  o'er  the  main, 
Our  Bishop  safely  home  again, 
For  life,  with  us,  here  to  remain 

And  strengthened  for  the  fray. 

O  Lord,  Thy  people's  thanks  receive, 
For  all  their  needs  Thou  dost  relieve, 
Nor  let  those  for  Thy  favors  grieve 

Who  place  their  trust  in  Thee, — 
Let  us,  O  Lord,  Thy  mercies  praise  ; 
With  love  and  truth  our  hearts  now  raise, 
That  on  Thy  presence  we  may  gaze 

In  all  humility. 


And  now,  your  Grace,  we  welcome  you 

From  Tiber  old  and  Danube  blue, 

And  thank  our  God  with  hearts  still  true 

We  have  you  here  at  home. 
Be  yours,  my  lord,  our  souls  to  guide  ; 
Remain,  kind  Guardian,  at  our  side ; 
Be  ours,  from  you,  not  once  to  glide 

Nor  with  false  teachers  roam. 

And  when,  at  last,  our  race  is  run, 
And  eyes  shall  close  on  earthly  sun, 
May  He,  to  us,  then  say,   ''Well  done"; 

And,  in  the  realms  above, 
May  we  behold  thee,  mitered  there  ! 
Prince,  of  our  Church,  in  heaven's  own  sphere 
Our  spirits  blended  everywhere 

In  God's  own  link  of  love. 


A  MONODY: 

WITH    REGRETFUL    REFERENCE   TO  THE  DEATH    OF  A 
DEAR    FRIEND. 

O  muse  of  mine,  must  we  again 
So  soon  take  up  a  mournful  strain, 
And  grief,  for  aye,  be  our  refrain 

Whilst  lingering  here  below  ? 
If  this  be  so,  then  let  us  bend 
Our  hearts,  our  souls,  unto  the  end 
That  He  to  us  may  also  send 

Strength  to  accept  each  blow. 

O  Lord,  Thou,  in  Thy  wisdom,  hast 
From  me  estranged  in  the  past 
Those  I  have  loved,  and  this  the  last 

Thou  hast  now  also  taken. 
Thy  will,  O  Lord,  on  earth  be  done 
From  rising  unto  setting  sun, 
And  when  life's  petty  battle 's  won 

Let  me  not  be  forsaken  ; 


(  73  ) 

But  in  Thy  realms,  where  heart  meets  heart, 
Cemented  never  more  to  part, 
'Midst  Mankind  from  Creation's  start 

Of  every  creed  and  clime 
May  I,  O  God,  in  mercy  find 
Those  I  have  sought  in  soul  and  mind 
Our  intercourse  there  unconfined, 

Blended  unto  all  time. 

SAX  FRANCISCO, 

April  10,  1889. 


AN    INTROSPECTIVE    MUSING. 

I  look  within,  and  there  I  see 
Thoughts  madly  struggling-  to  be  free 
With  which  I  am  in  sympathy; 

But  yet,  I  with  Montaigne 
Do  think  that  if  inside  my  hand 
All  human  truths  I  could  command, 
I  'd  better  give  it  to  the  brand 

Than  open  it  amain. 

And,  so  I  think  and  thus  I  dream 

That  most  things  are  not  what  they  seem, 

Nor  dare  we  let  the  sunlight  beam 

Upon  some  thoughts  of  ours; 
For  this  our  world  is  still  but  young 
And  some  things  must  be  left  unsung, 
Although  the  withers  may  be  wrung 

While  Darkness  overpowers. 


(  75) 

Yes,  Frenchman  wise,  you  were  quite  right 
In  courting  not  an  earthy  fight 
Where  all  is  wrong  that  is  not  might; 

As  it  so  stands  to-day 
In  every  land  beneath  the  sun 
Where  nought  is  lost,  but  all  is  won 
By  those  who '  ve  got  the  mightiest  gun 

And  bring  it  into  play. 

Then,  dreams  of  mine,  we'll  dream  no  more, 
Or  if  we  do,  't  is  not  before 
We  study  well  the  cannon's  bore 

And  know  how  it  will  suit  us; 
And  then  in  cause  of  human  kind 
We'll  battle  both  with  gun  and  mind, 
Confronting  tyrants  who  shall  find 

They  cannot  thus  refute  us. 

So,  thoughts  of  mine,  back  to  your  caves, 
Nor  surge  you  thus  in  maddening  waves, 
But  rest  you  still  as  sleeping  babes 
Until  your  time  shall  come; 


(  76  ) 

Then,  nor  with  weak  nor  tuneless  tongue, 
The  Good  and  Wise  and  Brave  among-. 
Speak  you  the  truth  to  old  and  young 
With  voice  of  loudest  drum. 


TO    "A." 

(IN    REPLY    TO    HER    REQUEST.) 

My  dearest  girl,  you  ask  of  me 
To  write  one  verse  on  * '  Vanity. ' ' 
If  I  comply,  then  let  us  see 

What  may  in  truth  be  said. 
That  vanity  is  sinful  doth 
Go  without  saying,  and  of  sloth 
Or  indolence  is  born,  or  both  — 

My  heart  thinks  with  my  head. 

Dear  little  girl,  if  e'  er  you  feel 
Your  gentle  soul  toward  it  steal 
Curb  it  right  then  for  your  own  weal 

Nor  place  therein  your  trust, 
For  vanity,  when  it  begins, 
Forerunner  is  of  other  sins 
And  man's  respect  it  never  wins 

But  rather  his  disgust. 


(  78) 

Be  never  vain,  but  be  thou  proud/ 
In  solitude  or  midst  the  crowd 
Let  conscience  ever  speak  aloud, 

And  God  will  do  the  rest  ; 
Bearing  thee  with  humility 
That  all  may  see  thee  as  He  'd  see, 
And  He  will  kindly  foster  thee 

And  guide  thee  for  the  best. 

Be  ever  truthful,  never  vain  ! 

So  on  your  soul  shall  be  no  stain, 

And  blessings  on  you  He  will  rain 

Unto  the  end  of  life  ; 
Raise  your  heart  ever  up  to  Him, 
Nor  be  the  slave  of  passion's  whim  ; 
And  youth's  deep  cup  full  to  the  brim 

With  gladness  shall  be  rife. 

This,  little  girl,  is  what  I  'd  say 
From  my  retreat  across  the  bay, 
Here,  dreaming  on  this  Holy  day, 
Far  from  the  city's  throng. 


(79) 

So  wishing  you  a  happy  year 
With  heart  and  conscience  ever  clear, 
And  praying  He  may  hold  you  dear, 
I  send  my  friendly  song. 


SAUCELITO, 

Palm  Sunday,  '89. 


LE    JOUR    DE    L'AN. 

IS    IT    A    DREAM? 

WRITTEN   FOR  THE    KNIGHTS  OF  ST.  PATRICK,   AND  RECITED  AT 

THEIR    BANQUET    ON    THE    I7TH   OF    MARCH,    1886. 

This  day  brings  us  glorious  weather, 
Clouds  have  vanished,  skies  are  clear, 

For  now  we  stand  on  native  heather 
On  this  our  one  day  of  the  year. 

Nor  sects  nor  creeds  to-day  shall  blind  us, 

Except  it  be  the  creed  of  love  ; 
"Thus  may  the  world  forever  find  us," 
Is  Erin's  prayer  to  heaven  above. 

Brethren  all  to-day  united, 

By  St.  Patrick  from  above  ; 
Each  content,  there's  no  one  slighted, 

All  are  linked  in  bonds  of  love. 

To-day  there  's  neither  Boyne  nor  Shannon 
Liffy,  nor  yet  old  rebel  Lee  ; 


(  8i  ) 

Nor  siege  of  Derry,  nor  Dungannon  ; 
Ribbon,  nor  Orange  can  I  see. 

Orange  and  Green  are  one  forever ; 

Sworn  to  one  country  and  one  cause, 
They  to  be  disunited  never 

For  now  we  have  Home  Rule — Home  Laws  ! 

To-day  we  stand  one  band  of  brothers, 

Doing  to  all  as  all  require  — 
True  to  our  ourselves,  friendly  to  others, — 

A  spectacle  the  gods  inspire. 

To-day,  one  only  thought  is  spoken, 
As  brother  clasps  a  brother's  hand  ; 

Each  one  wearing  Ireland's  token, — 
The  Shamrock  of  our  Native  Land. 

Other  lands  may  have  their  flowers, 

Rose  or  Thistle,  as  they  may  ; 
But  thou,  dear  emblem,  still  art  ours 

To  bring  us  close  on  Patrick's  Day. 


(    82    ) 

Then  here 's  to  thee  our  own  lov'd  Erin  ! 

Here's  to  each  Irish  heart  so  true 
That  near  or  far  this  day  is  wearing 

The  shamrock  green  for  love  of  you  ! 

Confusion  then  to  traitors  all, 

That  e'er  in  thought  or  word  or  deed 

Have  sought  to  compass  Ireland's  fall, 
Or  would  deny  her  in  her  need ! 

Such  thoughts  avaunt !     Here  is  no  treason, 
That  fatal  curse  has  pass'd  away. 

We're  loyal  men  with  right  and  reason, 
In  Friendship  met  on  Patrick's  Day. 

Then  fill  the  bowl,  each  Irish  brother. 

This  is  a  day  of  joy  I  deem. 
-Let 's  drown  the  Shamrock, —  now  another  ! 
Is  this  all  real,  or  do  I  dream  ? 

This  is  no  dream  !  I  see  before  me  ! 
My  country's  woes  are  past  and  dead. 


(  83  ) 

This  is  no  phrenzy  that  comes  o'er  me, 
I  only  see  some  years  ahead. 

Then  pledge  we  fresh  each  Irish  brother, 
Our  day  of  joy  has  come  'twould  seem. 

Let's  drown  the  Shamrock  —  now  one  other  ! 
We'll  make  this  real  —  and  not  a  dream. 


PEN  PORTRAITS. 
ARCHBISHOP  RIORDAN. 

Tall  and  erect  alone  he  stands, 
This  chosen  chief  of  chosen  bands 
From  varied  climes  and  far-off  lands, 

With  power  on  his  face ; 
From  altar  or  from  pulpit  he 
Discourses  with  simplicity, 
With  eloquence — with  dignity  — 

My  friends,  behold  his  Grace. 

THE  VICAR-GENERAL,  FATHER  PRENDERGAST. 

With  native  ease  and  subtle  grace, 
With  intellect  that  all  can  trace 
In  every  line  upon  his  face, 

With  kind  yet  searching  ken, 
True  scholar ;  yet,  without  pretense ; 
Giving  advice  without  offense, 
As  priest  or  man  in  truest  sense  — 

This  is  good  Father  "  Pren." 


THE  CHANCELLOR,  FATHER  MONTGOMERY. 

Nervous  and  quick  in  act  and  thought, 
Yet  never  seeming  overwrought, 
Spontaneous  wisdom  never  sought 

Nor  offered  charily. 
Urbane  and  scholarly  you'll  find 
This  restless  man  with  quiet  mind; 
Calm  centre  of  a  whirling  wind  - 

Our  Pere  Montgomery. 


A  SERENADE. 

Wake  !  Lady  mine,  the  moon  is  beaming 

And  stars  above  now  dimly  shine, 
Whilst  here  am  I,  so  lonely,  dreaming 

Ever  of  thee,  O  lady  mine  ! 

Rise  !  Lady  mine,  the  heavens  greet  thee, 
Trembling  high  in  the  midnight  hue, 

Whilst  my  fond  heart  shall  joyful  meet  thee, 
Ever  mine  own,  both  fond  and  true  ! 

Come  forth,  come  forth!  my  craving  heart's  love, 
Come  forth  and  view  this  night  so  clear ! 

Come  forth,  come  forth!  my  thirsting  soul's  love, 
Cease  all  doubting,  'tis  I  am  here. 

Come  forth,  come  forth!  now  O  mine  only  love, 
Come  forth  and  show  the  stars  their  queen! 

Come  forth,  come  forth!  now  O  mine  only  love, 
To-night  we'll  wander  far  unseen. 


To-night  we'll  roam  where  sleeping  flowerlets, 
love, 

Lead  us  a-straying  with  their  perfume  sweet, 
And  lingering  lost  in  their  leafy  bowerlets,  love, 

We'll  list  in  silence  to  our  own  hearts  beat. 


HEALTH    TO    SUE. 

Once  on  a  time  a  poet  grand, 
Awhile  his  boat  was  on  the  strand, 

His  barque  upon  the  sea, 
Could  take  a  stoup  of  water  cool, 
(Would  I  could  drink  from  out  that  pool 

Though  not  so  deep  as  he.) 

That  pool  has  long  since  dried  and  gone, 
And  we  are  left  to  plod  alone 

As  weakly  mortals  may; 
So  I  must  take  a  stronger  drink, 
And  let  my  deep  aversion  sink 

Upon  this  festal  day. 

Then  give  me  rich  and  glowing  wine, 
And  let  me  see  your  bright  eyes  shine 

As  ne'er  they  shone  before; 
And  I  shall  call  upon  the  muse. 
(Slow  jade,  she  will  not  now  refuse 

But  answer  as  of  yore. ) 


(  §9  ) 

In  vain,  alas,  in  vain  I  call, 
There  is  not  here  within  this  hall 

To  whom  my  muse  will  cater. 
For  she  is  a  capricious  elf 
And  flies  betimes  e'en  from  myself, 

And  so  do  not  berate  her. 

But  there  is  one — were  she  now  here — 
To  whom  the  muse  would  warble  clear 

In  notes  of  true  devotion; 
Then  we  would  canter  right  along, 
And  breathe  our  music  into  song 

Of  which  you  have  no  notion. 

Still  yet,  old  nag",  now  ere  we  part — 
You're  crusty  though  not  ill  of  heart  — 

This  once  you  won't  refuse? 
Come !  let  us  show  these  people  we 
Are  lacking  not  in  courtesy 

Though  cat' ring  to  the  muse. 


(90) 

'Tis  well!  my  friends,  the  muse  relents. 
If  wrongs  she  here  has  said  repents, 

And  this  is  her  adieu. 
Come  drain  your  glasses  right  away, 
And  damned  in  Beauty's  eyes  be  they 

Who  drink  not  unto  Sue! 


BACCHANALIAN. 

Set  me  a  stoup  of  the  red,  red  wine  ! 
The  glowing,  gleaming,  red,  red  wine  ! 
And  you,  my  girl,  with  the  face  divine, 
Now  pledge  me  deep  in  the  red,  red  wine  ! 

The  glowing,  gleaming,  red,  red  wine  ! 

The  drowsy,  dreaming,  red,  red  wine  ! 

Your  lips,  my  fair,  were  made  for  mine ; 
Deep  in  your  eyes  love' s  longings  shine  ; 
Around  my  soul  your  raptures  twine  ! 
Come,  pledge  again  in  the  red,  red  wine  ! 

This  rosy,  reeking,  red,  red  wine ! 

This  shimmering,  shining,  red,  red  wine  ! 

We'll  laugh  and  quaff  till  daylight's  shine, 
(Nor  balk  that  crafty  Boy's  design), 
And  memory,  grief,  and  all  repine 
Are  drowned  deep,  deep,  in  the  guilty  wine  ! 

The  maddening,  murderous,  red,  red  wine  ! 

The  gory,  guilty,  red,  red  wine  ! 


A  RECOLLECTION  OF  THE  YOSEMITE. 

O,  that  moonlight  and  that  valley! 

Before  me  them  I  see! 
O,  that  moonlight  and  that  valley! 

Of  the  Yosemite! 

And,  oh,  to  me  that  dearest  time 

When  at  her  feet  I  lay! 
Would  I  could  here  produce  in  rhyme 

All  that  I  thought  that  day! 

The  moon  creeps  o'er  the  mountain 
Leaving  one-half  in  shade, 

The  rippling  of  the  fountain 
Blends  with  the  loud  cascade. 

And  the  night  winds  sighing  round  us 
And  earth's  great  dome  above, 

And  the  kindly  eyes  that  found  us 
Lost,  in  our  dream  of  love. 


(  93  ) 

And  the  words  that  were  unspoken 
And  thoughts  left  unexpressed, 

And  the  promises  unbroken 
That  never  were  confessed. 

And  the  silence  and  the  parting 
As  there  we  said  "good  night," 

And  the  murmuring  and  the  starting 
Of  one  good  friend's  affright. 

And  since  that  night,  the  years  have  gone 

Aye,  I  believe,  a  score. 
Of  all  that  throng  I  see  not  one 

Nor  may  for  evermore. 

The  memory  of  that  lovely  night 

And  of  its  moonlight  clear 
In  my  fond  soul  shall  e'  er  be  bright 

With  all  that  I  hold  dear. 


A   VALENTINE. 

From  St.  Valentine's  Court  I  hail  afar! 

Kentucky  late  was  my  home, 
And  guided  now  by  Love's  own  star 

On  a  mission  of  Love  I  roam. 

I  hail  from  a  Land  of  Southern  sun; 

I  've  travel' d  many  a  mile; 
O'er  mountains  and  gorges  wild  I  've  come 

To  gather  from  thee — one  smile. 

I  have  left  behind  me  a  glowing  land- 
Its  softest  and  brightest  of  skies 

To  me  was  a  desert,  cold  and  bland, 
For  it  lacked  the  light  of  your  eyes. 

I  have  said  adieu  to  its  flowers  so  fair; 

To  its  waters  where  sunbeams  dance, 
I  reach  this  city's  dusty  glare 

To  crave  from  thee — one  glance  ! 


(  95  ) 

I '  ve  heard  of  your  beauty.    It  warmed  my  heart ; 

I  've  heard  of  it  many  a  time; 
I  've  read  of  it  often, — nay  do  not  start, 

I  've  read  it  in  very  poor  rhyme! 

I  am  come,  I  knock  at  your  true  heart's  gate, 
-   I'm  come  without  fear  or  sin; 
Oh,  say  not  I'm  tardy;  say  not  too  late, 
But  bid  me  to  hasten  in. 

I  enter;  I  bless  you;  I  lie  at  your  feet; 

Forgetting  each  weary  mile, 
As  you  take  me  up  with  a  welcome  sweet 

And  yield  what  I  asked — one  smile! 

That  winsome  smile!     To  me  now  given 

Illumines  a  heart  all  true; 
And  nestles  there  as  a  beam  from  Heaven 

Sent  into  a  soul  through  you. 

You  look  me  over.     Oh,  read  me  once  more! 
You  ponder.     Is  it  only  a  chance? 


(96  ) 

You  put  me  away,  but  't  is  not  before 

You  have  giv'n  what  I  crav'd — one  glance! 

That  one  fleeting  glance!     O,  paper  cold, 

Think  not  it  can  stay  with  thee! 
No,  no,  in  the  ways  of  some  fairy  bold, 

It  hastens  to  stay  with  me. 

That  smile  and  glance  in  my  life  shall  live 
So  long  as  the  bright  stars  shine. 

My  love  and  my  rhyme,  sweet  girl,  forgive 
I  am  only  a  valentine. 


MUSING. 

Valentine's  Day  has  come  and  gone, 
And  I  've  writ  missives  more  than  one 

To  suit  each  fair  one's  notion; 
But  one  dear  girl  o'er  all  I  've  seen 
Whose  quiet  grace  and  noble  mien 

Absorb  my  heart's  devotion. 

And  yet  to  her  I  have  not  writ, 
Nor  sent  of  token  e'  er  a  bit 

That  in  the  least  might  move  her; 
For  she  has  gold  whilst  none  have  I, 
And  so  in  silence  must  I  sigh, 

Nor  speak  how  much  I  love  her. 

Let  Fate  or  Chance  this  lot  reverse, 
Then  love's  own  story  I  '11  rehearse 

And  tell  her,  O  how  boldly, 
All  that  this  heart  of  mine  has  felt 
Since  first  mine  eyes  upon  her  dwelt, 

Though  trying  to  look  coldly. 


(  98) 

Shall  I  now  seek  me  other  eyes 

And  gaze  in  them  with  feigned  surprise, 

To  try  me  to  forget  her? 
'Twere  all  in  vain,  each  word  and  look 
Of  hers  are  stamp' d  in  my  life's  book, 

And  were  since  first  I  met  her. 

I  can't  bring  back  a  by-gone  age 
When  pelfless  wight  might  act  the  page- 
Such  ways  no  longer  suit  us  ; 
So  I  shall  do  as  others  do, 
And  since  I  can't  wed  her,  I  '11  woo 
And  worship  thee,  O  Plutus! 

Then,  god  of  riches,  grant  thou  me 
Some  trifle  of  the  wealth  I  see 

Thou  show'rst  so  on  asses, 
That  I  may  speak  outside  of  song, 
And  love  and  cherish  my  life  long 

This  fairest  of  fair  lassies. 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

O,  Christmas  bells  loud  ring, 
And  unto  my  soul  bring 
Thoughts  that  I  would  sing, 

In  not  unworthy  rhyme! 
For  on  this  day  was  born 
Of  wealth  and  pomp  though  shorn 
In  stable  all  forlorn 

Peace  unto  all  time. 

For  ages  long  before 

The  weight  of  crime  man  bore, 

Nor  could  he  clear  the  score 

Of  mortal  sins  anent  him; 
But  on  this  blessed  day 
Unto  Time's  distant  sway 
O'er  every  land  and  bay 

Is  forgiveness  sent  him. 


Then,  O,  you  Christians  all 

Of  station  low  or  tall 

In  every  home,  though  small, 

Your  enmities  now  cease. 
And  let  a  kindly  love 
Thus  sanctioned  from  above 
In  peaceful  spirit  rove 

From  Heav'n-born  Babe  of  Peace. 


A  PARK  CAROL: 

LINES  SUGGESTED  UPON  READING  ARCHBISHOP 
RIORDAN'S  PROPOSITION  OF  RAISING  ONE 
HUNDRED  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  FOR  PARK 
IMPROVEMENTS  AND  TO  GIVE  WORK  TO  THE 
NEEDY  UNEMPLOYED. 

Now,  purse-proud  city  by  the  sea, 
A  song  of  praise  I  sing  to  thee, 

And  to  thy  true  men  all 
Who've  cast  aside  turmoils  and  broils, 
And  filthy  lust  for  filthy  spoils 

To  hear  the  laborers'  call. 

And  you,  Archbishop,  bold  and  grand, 
Who  now  would  lead  this  noble  band — 

My  homage  at  thy  door, — 
For  thou  dost  well  the  Master's  will — 
His  kind  behests  thou  dost  fulfill 

In  caring  for  His  poor. 


(    102    ) 

And  I  have  crossed  through  "Golden  Gate," 
By  dawn's  soft  light  and  evening  late, 

Nor  lark,  thrush,  linnet  found, — 
But  each  wee  bird  that  I  met  there 
Twittered  thy  praises  everywhere 

From  perches  near  the  ground. 

Go  on,  good  Bishop,  in  thy  way 
Nor  trouble  what  false  men  may  say. 

Go,  ramble,  through  the  Park, 
And  there  the  flowers  shall  smile  on  you 
And  trees  and  ferns  give  welcome,  too — 

Of  Nature's  love  a  mark. 

SAN  FRANCISCO, 
March  6,  1890. 


NOTES  TO  IRISH  RECOLLECTIONS. 

"Hooker"  is  a  vessel  with  one  mast,  of  from  twenty  to 
eighty  tons  burden,  and  is  manned  by  a  crew  of  two.  The 
" Nanny's"  capacity  was  about  fifty  tons.  She  usually  made 
monthly  return  trips  from  Roundstone,  in  Connemarra,  to 
Galway,  the  capital  of  Connaught,  a  distance  of  forty  miles, 
and  was  owned  and  sailed  by  Martin  Toole,  assisted  by 
the  "Commodore,"  as  he  was  called,  an  excellent  seaman, 
though  deaf  as  a  post.  It  has  been  the  good  fortune  of  the 
writer  to  have  had  many  a  sail  in  the  hooker  along  that  bold 
Coast;  and,  although  he  has  since  seen  much  of  this  world, 
he  can  still  look  back  to  those  innocent  recreations  with 
pleasurable  feelings,  and  can  honestly  state  that  in  all  his 
wanderings  he  has  seen  no  marine  scenes  to  equal  those 
which  then  met  his  youthful  gaze. 

"Errisbeg"  is  the  name  of  a  mountain  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Roundstone,  in  the  County  of  Galway.  It  is  the 
most  forward  of  the  range  on  that  coast,  and  from  its  isola 
tion  and  position  appeals  to  the  imagination  as  the  advanced 
guard  or  picket  on  duty  of  the  hoary  ramparts  behind  it, 
protecting  old  Ireland  from  an  invasion  of  the  Atlantic.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  said  the  finest  view  in  Ireland  was  from  Tore 


104 

mountain  in  Killarney.  No  doubt  the  view  from  Tore  is 
very  beautiful.  But  had  the  great  novelist  stood  on  the 
summit  of  Errisbeg,  I  do  not  think  he  would  yield  the  palm 
to  Tore  quite  so  readily ;  for  standing  on  Errisbeg  magnifi 
cent  views  present  themselves  on  all  sides.  On  his  right  he 
would  see  a  vast  plain  intersected  with  many  lakes,  dotted 
with  small  islands,  stretching  away  towards  Clifden,  the 
capital  of  Connemarra.  On  his  left  the  island  of  Ennislaken 
(almost  at  his  feet),  the  bay  of  Roundstone  and  Moyross  with 
its  strongly  indented  coasts;  in  front  of  him  the  magnificent 
Atlantic  in  its  billowy  undulations  rolling  off  to  this  great 
Republic;  while  at  his  back  lie  the  "Twelve  Pens,"  lazily 
sleeping  in  their  Alpine  repose.  The  writer,  though  not 
born  there,  spent  years  of  early  childhood  and  boyhood  in 
that  neighborhood,  and  on  leaving  Ireland  called  to  have  a 
farewell  look  at  the  old  hill.  He  spent  the  day  with  his  kind, 
hospitable  friend,  Father  James.  They  had  an  early  four 
o'clock  dinner  in  his  cosy  cottage  at  the  foot  of  Letterdiffe, 
after  which  they  strolled  up  towards  "Errisbeg."  Their 
parting  was  as  described. 


IRISH    RECOLLECTIONS. 
MARTIN  TOOLE. 

What  though  he's  but  a  boatman- 

An  honest  man  is  he 
As  ever  sailed  afloat,  man, 

On  calm  or  stormy  sea. 

And  his  good  ship  the  ' '  Nanny ' ' 
Or  hooker  I  should  say, 

He  plies  so  bold  and  canny 
Upon  old  Galway's  bay. 

It's  many  a  pleasant  sailing 
We've  had  along  that  shore, 

With  none  to  hear  our  railing 
But  the  deaf  old  Commodore. 

What  if  of  pigs  and  other  stock 
He  often  had  a  cargo — 

Think  you  his  humor  it  did  block 
Or  cause  the  least  embargo  ? 


(  io6  ) 

No,  for  the  pigs  and  ladies 
He  did  the  best  he  could, 

As  also  for  the  babies 

Who  were  not  ' '  in  the  wood. ' ' 

Oft  on  the  wild  rude  ocean 
A-tossing  on  the  deep, 

Each  wave  with  huge  commotion 
Kept  rocking  them  from  sleep. 

Since  then  I've  had  some  sailing 
With  sail  full  to  the  rim, 

But  not  the  pleasant  railing 
That  I  have  had  with  him. 

And,  if  I  now  sing  this  boatman 
Think  not  the  worse  of  me, 

I've  said  he  was  as  true  a  man 
As  sails  upon  the  sea. 

And  sure  in  this,  as  other  things, 
No  matter  how  it  turns, 


(  107  ) 

Or  how  the  trump  of  fame  now  rings, 
I  think  wi'  Bobby  Burns. 

I  think  with  Scotland's  poet  tramp 
In  lines  both  terse  and  pat, 

"The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp," 
The  head  is  not  the  hat. 

Here's  to  you,  jolly  boatman, 

One  of  the  olden  school — 
With  you  I'd  be  afloat,  man — 

Here's  to  you,  Martin  Toole. 


io8 


FATHER  JAMES. 

The  eve  was  calm,  all  earth  lay  still, 
We  sat  beneath  Errisbeg  hill  — 
That  ancient  hill  that  o'er  the  strand 
Towers  to  Olympus,  lone  and  grand  ; 
Proud  and  erect  alone  it  stands, 
An  ancient  guard  o'er  ancient  lands  ; 
Holding  in  check  Atlantic's  waves, 
It  sends  them  backward  to  their  caves. 

O,  dear  old  hill,  to  my  fond  youth 
How  fair  you  seemed,  and  yet,  in  sooth, 
Seeing  earth's  mountains  grand  and  tall 
Thou  art  still  dearest  of  them  all! 
My  memory  backward  hurries  now, 
Ere  care  was  written  on  my  brow, 
Those  happy  days  so  long  gone  by 
When  sporting  like  each  butterfly 
That  up  and  down  thy  old  side  gleamed 
And  dancing  as  the  bright  sun  beamed  — 


When  I  as  bright  and  pure  as  they 
Could  revel  in  the  full  noon  day, 
Nor  thought  nor  dreamt  that  one  blast  might 
Plunge  my  bright  day  to  darkest  night. 

Beneath  this  hill  there  sat  that  night 

As  loath  to  leave  while  waning  light 

Sufficed  for  conversation  slight;  — 

Two  friends  who  talked  how  'neath  the  sun 

This  world  has  often  been  undone 

By  tricks  of  knaves  or  woman's  fun ; 

Of  Ireland's  wrongs  if  e'er  they'd  right 

By  "moral  force"  or  battle's  might. 

One  of  these  two,  a  layman,  was 
Depressed  this  night  with  grievous  cause  ; 
For  he  was  leaving  sad  and  lone 
The  place  which  long  had  been  his  home 
To  wander  forth  strange  scenes  to  meet, 
And  ne'er  perchance  his  own  land  greet — 
That  land  to  him  the  first  on  earth — 
Home  of  his  heart — land  of  his  birth ! 


(  no  ) 

The  other,  priest  of  that  old  faith 
Which  time  nor  chains  nor  whilom  death 
Could  shake  from  out  that  country's  breath, 
One  of  those  guides  in  whom  you  scan 
The  pious  priest  and  honest  man. 

Nor  beads  nor  gown  this  eve  behold, 
But  by  the  light  of  burnished  gold 
The  sun  is  shedding  o'er  the  mountain, 
Ere  he  forsakes  each  dale  and  fountain 
To  play  the  part  of  love's  recluse — 
Hid  from  all  eyes  except  the  muse ; 
And  in  soft  dreams  Thetis  beside 
Forget  our  world  with  his  ocean  bride, — 
And  by  the  light  of  one  bright  star 
That  now  is  coming  from  afar, 
Instead  of  rosary  might  be  seen 
A  tiny  flask  of  clear  poteen — 
Spirit  so  pure  to  see  it  now 
The  Turk  might  drink,  nor  break  his  vow. 


( III ) 

"  I  pledge  you  true,"  the  good  priest   said, 
As  swift  his  heart  flew  to  his  head. 
"I  pledge  you  true,"  'twas  urged  with  grief, 
''Take  it,  my  friend,  'twill  give  relief. 

Now  once  again,  and  then  good-night 

God  bless  you,  may  your  days  be  bright." 

And  since  that  night  I've  wandered  far 

On  ocean  life,  a  drifting  spar, 

Now  sometimes  up  and  sometimes  down, 

Sometimes  a  smile,  again  a  frown, 

As  if  my  life  had  been  but  made 

A  plaything  for  the  Fickle  Jade. 

Hopes  bright  and  dark  mayhap  betimes, 

As  I  would  show  in  some  weak  rhymes, 

Have  chased  each  other  o'er  my  soul 

Nor  yet  have  found  a  resting  goal. 

As  light  and  shadow  may  be  seen 

Flitting  across  a  village  green, 

Or  coming  down  the  steepest  hill 

To  seek  for  refuge  in  a  rill ; 


(    H2    ) 

Anon  to  leave  the  gentle  river 
Again  to  chase  each  other  ever. — 
Such  is  our  life — such  most  men  are 
Each  but  the  plaything  of  his  star. 

For  me,  where'  er  my  lot  be  cast, 
In  summer's  calm  or  winter's  blast, 
Remember  thee?     Aye,  to  the  last! 
Whilst  yet  to  Love  or  Friendship's  flames 
My  heart  may  throb,  dear  Father  James, 
Whate'er  may  come  to  sooth  or  fret 
That  land  and  thee  I'll  ne'er  forget. 

But  ah,  my  pen,  hold  on,  no  more! 
For  thou,  dear  friend,  art  gone  before — 
Gone  to  those  Realms  where  we  are  taught 
Honor  and  Truth  need  not  be  sought — 
Gone  in  thy  prime  sans  earthly  dross, 
Whilst  I  am  left  to  mourn  thy  loss. 
Left  alone  in  this  world  of  sin, 
One  only  thought  still  left  therein, — 
The  hope  the  dream  to  meet  again 
Thy  spirit  pure,  amen,  amen  ! 


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